I’ve been there for a while, but only posting about my career. Bo-ring.

So now you can join me for more interesting things, like parenting my very independent kid (who’s almost 4. yowsa!), cooking for my absurdly sensitive stomach, pretending to be a runner, my theatrical adventures, and becoming a non-profit leader (didn’t think you’d avoid all career stuff now did you?).

And, just so you know, you have approximately three months to get your fill of this blog as standing and then the archives will vanish from your viewing pleasure until you decide to buy the book. You think I’m kidding? No, I don’t have a book deal. Good grief, who’d want to buy this stuff? But, it’ll be in book format anyways. Just in case.

A few weeks ago, I read another Lousia May Alcott book. The heroine was adorably sweet, as usual. She said something, though, that stuck.

When you’re having a bad day, do something nice for someone else.

I tried it last week.

It worked.

I was in a foul mood. Really foul. The kind of foul that sits and stinks and just fuels itself even thought you can’t find where it all began.

So I sorted my roommate’s embroidery thread. She was starting some cross-stitch projects and had the jumble of floss piled up on her desk. I made her some cards and sorted it out by color and shade. It didn’t take long. But the act of doing it was long enough to breath and focus on someone else. I felt much better, and did something nice at the same time.

My mom and I presented at naeyc this year. We decided to bring Avi with us since it was only an hour presentation during a four-day conference.

We drove the car and shuttle to the airport, hopped the plane, took a shuttle to the train station, climbed aboard the train, and finally took a taxi to the hotel. Sounds typical, right? Well, it’s extra exciting for a three year old.

I consider myself lucky that I have a child that doesn’t hit. Because even parents who are really good at helping their children communicate and coach their kids through emotions, can still end up with an aggressor. That’s just the way it is when they’re under four. You try your hardest but some kids find it harder to transfer physical energy into vocal energy, or redirect their physical energy at a wall or pillow or activity.

Tonight, Avi hit me. In the face. And her nails aren’t perfectly clipped so it included a scratch.

I was actually caught so off guard that I just glared at her for a while.

I didn’t yell, though. Because I also realized immediately that I’d put her in a precarious position and her hitting me made complete sense.

It was past 9 at night after a long day. She had visited her dad for the first time in almost a week and then had to come home to my house late anyways (not something we usually do). And then I was teaching her a new card game and when she didn’t like the result, she reacted without thinking. Honestly, who could think that late at night after a long day and you’re only three?

I reminded her about other options and then we ended the game and went up for stories and bedtime without incident.

It was a good reminder: only expect what people can truly give. Best behavior late at night after an exhausting day won’t happen…for grown-ups too.

A few days ago, my mom caught Avi drawing little stick figures. Very complete and detailed stick figures. She even gave my mom glasses. We looked on the sly because I whispered “She’s been doing that for a while, but she usually chooses to color blobs instead. I don’t know why.”
But then, the next day, she worked for a long time on a gorgeous picture and then signed her name.
Her name!
My baby can write her name!
I cried.
She laughed.
We danced.

There’s nothing like a close shave to remind me how friggin’ lucky I am to have a healthy whole child. (currently knocking on wood)

Avi fell plummeted off the back of the couch today. A two and half foot free fall flat on to her back and, consequently, her head.

Within minutes she was lethargic, yawning and complaining of pain in the back of her mouth. Twenty minutes later she was curled up on the kitchen floor after puking her guts out.

Her pupils were fine, but she was clearly not. The doctor told me to watch her (duh) and if she vomited again, bring her to the ER but otherwise just hang in there until we could get in for an appointment.

It was a very long two hours. For me, anyways.

I finally got her moved to the couch to watch a movie where she promptly fell asleep.

I struggled with myself for a few minutes as I watched her breath. If it’s a concussion, aren’t I supposed to make her stay awake? But the doctor didn’t say that and my nurse-to-be roomie said she would be fine sleeping as long as I could wake her up in a couple of hours. But her dad told me I wasn’t allowed to let her sleep.

Fortunately, her dad called me right at that moment to tell me I could let her sleep. He’d double checked. He told me I should look it up too to make myself feel better. I decided not to. I’d rather trust the people around me and my gut which told me she really needed to sleep.

Over the course of the next hour and a half, I watched her face puff up in her sleep. A small puffiness. A little blotchiness. No one but one’s own mother would notice. But I worried anyways. I left her side long enough to get a cup of tea and my knitting basket. And then there I sat wondering if I had a long road ahead of me of watching my child scream through lab tests and get drugged up for CT scans and then I grew thankful for the fact that she has been so healthy so far.

She woke up on her own. And within minutes was munching goldfish and giggling at the TV. She was back to her old self and bravely said “ahhh” to the doctor when asked.

And did I bother to remind her of the lesson she learned about climbing on the backs of couches? Of course not. I was too relieved to remember to lecture. Her dad took care of it by asking “What lesson did you learn today when you fell off the couch?”

To which she replied that she should not climb on the back of the couch.

To which he replied, “Yes, but more importantly, if you do climb things, you always need a spotter.”